The man with the
trombone is Richard Boone. His obituary
and some history was found at "Fuller Up, The Dead Musicians Directory,"
and his music on at least one CD released a couple of years ago. Here's a good
site, with another biography: Arkansas
Jazz Heritage Foundation.

You might know the name of the trumpeter.
I don't remember it, and haven't recognized him. Could it be Clark Terry? He visited
Boone in Copenhagen in the later years. Look here.
Tell me what you think. (Thank you Ken Burns and PBS)

When I arrived
at Little Rock Air Force Base I was a jazz enthusiast, very familiar with the
Los Angeles area scene. I had a few albums, West Coast stuff and Dixieland. Whenever
any of the people in the squadron heard that, they said, "Wait till Weems
gets back! You gotta meet him."

When he did return from temporary
duty in Morocco, I collared him before he could unpack or catch a nap. He dozed
off in the middle of a Shelly Manne record I was playing for him. We became friends.

He introduced me to a group of men in Little Rock, also jazz enthusiasts,
who met Friday and Saturday evenings in a clubroom just down the street from the
Waiters Club. They called their association "The Esoterics," and were
eager and able to discuss just about any subject. There were attorneys, medical
doctors, school teachers, college professors and students, and Weems and I, Airmen
from "out at Jackson-vuhl."

Click
the thumbnail to see a larger version of the picture of me with some of the Esoterics
men in their clubhouse. I found the original, which is of the same quality as
that of Richard Boone, above. I was sure it would turn up. Fortunately I am paranoid
about such losses, and made a picture of the picture, just in case.

Music,
dancing, refreshments, and stimulating conversation were followed by a stroll
to the Waiters Club. Richard Boone was the musician who most rang my bell: I liked
JJ and Kai, and thought him their equal. What I really liked were
the times Boone stood his trombone on a stand and played a cowbell. He had shredded
plenty of drumsticks on its edges.

My access to all this was based on
arriving with the prestigious Esoterics and paying the $3.00 cover charge. The
first time I was invited one of the men told the doorman I was a "cousin,"
and that was good enough.

On that first night we were quite early, and
I got to circulate and meet many of the regulars. It was fun and "cool."
When it came time for the musicians to play, I was the one nearest the stage,
with its obligatory single unshaded lightbulb hanging above it. The manager called
me by name and told me to turn it off. I picked up my chair, stepped up on the
stage and then the chair, and with a stretch was able to unscrew it a half-turn.
Just before the light went out I glanced around. What a sight for the eyes of
the only white boy in the place. All other eyes in there were zeroed in on me
as I doused the light, and a rumble-flutter of laughter accompanied a stumbling
descent from the pinnacle of my stage career.

I don't remember sensing any
hostility from anyone in the place. I spent as many Friday and Saturday nights
there as I could afford (an A/2c got $85.80 a month in those days). The Saturday
night sessions lasted until after sunup, most weekends.

Of
course all this was during the late summer and fall, in the town and year that
gave light to the "Little Rock Nine." The Waiters Club changed management.
Even though the Esoterics warned me that there wasn't much chance the new folks
would let me in, I had to try it. The doorman was surly, and hesitated only a
second before announcing, "He don't look like no cousin to me." The
Esoterics wanted to argue, but I backed out. There was no use, in my mind, creating
animosity toward them as well.

I was able to keep up with the happenings
"on the set" through Weems and another Airman friend, Curtis
O. "Chuck" McDaniel. One of the ladies who went to the Waiters Club
worked as cook in a Little Rock Bar (the "Ship Ahoy") where I spent
some time. She also helped ease the loss of that association. OK, I spent a lot
of time in the bar, a good portion of it in the kitchen. Again, I felt I should
back away because of oblique pressures on Annie.

One of the singers who
came through there while I could attend was Pam Newborn, Phineas' sister. Someone
complimented her, saying she sounded like Sara Vaughan. She said, "I just
want to sound like Pam..." She did both. I don't know if she ever had any
success other than in clubs, but she sounded fine, there.

I was also
very happy to be part of a pallid pair with a guitarist who played a gig there.
I can never remember his name, but I recognize the way he moves his mouth as he
plays, every time I see him on TV.